I Have An Agent In Japan

   The movie was called Undead Fish IV and I sat in the bleachers of an Olympic swimming pool with two hundred other extras. I was wearing a blue three piece suit and feeling rather humiliated. The crowded indoor space was quite humid as indoor pools are. I was sweaty and bored while the film crew spent hours setting their camera and lights.

   I had only brought my suit because as a union extra I was expected to have a change of clothes if the film company didn’t like my street clothes. The third assistant director, or the extras wrangler as she was, insisted I change into the suit. You’ll look like one of the parents who skipped out of work to see their child swim, you’ll look great!” I didn’t know that was nonsense. I didn’t know I’d look like a blur, which is was what most extras look like.

   I didn’t have any film experience. I got my theatre union card from doing a lot of plays before I was twenty-four, and with that I could join the film union. The film union figured if you could act in the theatre you must be a real actor and they would take you, too. I did the rounds of agencies in Toronto but I don’t think my headshot and resume got past the receptionist’s shredder. So, I got an extras agent on the remote lottery chance I might get promoted on set to a speaking part. I didn’t fully understand that if a speaking actor actually died on set, there was always another fully experienced one waiting a phone call away.

   I sat slumped forward with my elbows on my knees and my chin resting on my fists sweating the time away, until a saw a girl with modelish good looks deliberately lean forward herself and sit the same way, only she was stiff and posed to draw attention herself. Who did she think would notice? The agitated director? The assistants? The cameraman? They didn’t care. They had their stuff to worry about. I sat up straight before anyone might suspect me of trying to draw attention to myself.

   The only thing more boring and irritating then how long the setup was taking was watching other people in the crowd show off how bored and irritated they were with how long the setup was taking. Fanning themselves and eyerolling, huffing and puffing. The whole experience was new to me but I was sure I could behave better than that.

   A row down and a little bit over to my left was a young guy. I mean I was twenty-four, but I passed for older, he was like nineteen or twenty at most. He had one of those shaved eyebrow slits and I suppose people thought he was good looking. I was sure he thought he was good looking.

   “Yea, I got an agent in Toronto, and I got an agent in LA, and I got an agent in Japan.” Eyebrow said, and the couple next to him nodded to him how cool he was.

   He had an agent in Japan? I wanted to throw myself off the bleachers, but we were only about ten feet up and I’d probably hurt something. I saw an old printed theatre program once where it listed some actor, not someone I had worked with, but someone we had all heard about, who gave his bio as ‘having worked extensively in New York, London, and Moscow’. Now, a few actors might possibly get something in New York, off off Broadway, but within a hundred miles to say it was New York. The British theatre is harder because they do not welcome non-residents. But who gets to Moscow? We were sure that guy was full of crap. But who knew with the movies? They took actors and athletes, models and comedians, singers and you never knew who.

   The Extra agency asked if I had special skills? Driver’s License? Firearms? Sports? Casino card dealing? Languages? Accents? Yeah, I can tie my shoelaces, rub my tummy, and chew gum at the same time. Special skills? Local actor, grade twelve graduate.  

   “In LA they call us icebacks.” The eyebrow announced. The couple laughed. Shut up. What a little weasel. “In Japan, this is really different, you buy a bottle of booze and go to a restaurant and you pay them to keep the bottle there for you. Every time you want to go out for a drink you drop by that restaurant and they got your bottle waiting. It’s got a line on it from the last time you were there. That’s the way they do it.”

   What a creep. The pool was bubbling up in the deep end. Some sort of air jets were turned on. Young teenage swimmers were climbing the high boards and jumping off. The camera was rolling and they told us to be quiet while they recorded. Then they told us to cheer. We cheered. Louder. We cheered louder. Louder. Eyebrow wasn’t cheering. He was bored now that the attention wasn’t on him. He wasn’t doing his job. I kept cheering. I was going to be a professional. I was a professional and had the card to prove it, even if I didn’t have an agent in Japan.

   The little punk had really depressed me. When I got my union cards the whole world was opening up to me, and now I could see I was getting nowhere. Eyebrow had something I didn’t and I didn’t how to get it. I just wasn’t good looking, or sharp enough, or trendy enough. I hadn’t even been down to the USA beyond a hockey game near the border.

   The diving ended and guys in wetsuits came out with plywood boards painted blue and covered with giant plastic fish heads that had long piranha-like teeth. They got in the pool and swam around in circles and then towards the bleachers when cued. I guess they filmed at an angle where you only saw the fish heads and not the wetsuits underneath.

   “Okay, who wants a close up?” The assistant director shouted. “Now, anyone who has a Bronze Medallion for swimming please come down here and we’ll get you in the pool and do a close up. You’re going to be eaten by one of the fish faces. Now, anyone else who wants a close up, come down, and we’re going to do an effect where we cover you with fake blood. It’s fake. It’s non toxic. It’s totally washable. We’ll cover you with fake blood and get some shots of you screaming, and later we’ll do an effect of a fish coming out of the water and jumping on you. But you don’t have to hang around for that. We can do that after you’re wrapped. Okay, come down, Bronze Medallions go to Angela here, blood close ups come to me.”

   I went down to join the blood cue. They squirted my blue suit with a plastic ketchup pump dispenser, covered half my face, and asked me to scream several times. “Louder, louder, really feel it.” When it was all over, I took my sweaty self back to the bleacher. They didn’t even offer a towel to clean up with. I was pulling an old dusty tissue pack out of my suit pocket and trying to dab myself clean.

   Eyebrow turned to look at me. “That stuff doesn’t come out, man. They were lying to you. I wouldn’t let them do that to me. You’re not a close up, you know? They do a close up you get a pay raise. When the film comes out, you’ll go by so quick it won’t qualify you as a close up. Nobody will know it’s you. They’re not paying all these people for close ups. They lie to you, man. It’s like the yelling. Why are you screaming for? They’re not recording you. If they used your voice, they’d have to pay you. They’re dubbing it. You’re throat sore, now? Save yourself man, just fake it.”

   I wanted to punch him in face, but I was too professional to behave that way, and I had never punched someone successfully in the face before, even in High School. But I was sure I could punch him in the face. My throat was sore now, and scratchy.

   Another miserable two hours passed while the film people got all their camera shots, and then they let us go. A long line up formed to get paid for the night’s work. There was only the couple between Eyebrow and me.

   Some production assistant carrying a spotlight stopped by Eyebrow. “Hey, Steve, how’s it going?”

   “Good man, good.”

   “How’s your uncle? How was LA?”

   “Good. I got an agent. Took a while.”

   “And your girlfriend?”

   “Great. I got to see her. Her parents paid for me to go to Japan for a week. They wanted her to go to University there, and she thought they were trying to break us up, so they agreed to pay for me to visit her. Good one, eh.”

   “Good stuff.”

   Then it hit me. Eyebrow had agents, but what kind were they? Were they extra agents? I got an extra agent. Anyone could get an extra agent. Was he going to get on a plane whenever someone called him for extra work? His uncle. His girlfriend’s parents. Mr. Bigshot. Steve Eyebrow, International Background Specialist. Coming to a blur on a screen near you.

   The third assistant director tapped me. “What are you doing?”

   “I’m in line to get paid.” I said.

   “This is cash. Your union. Just go to the front on the line. They’ll sign off on your voucher. You’ll get your cheque in the mail. Thanks for your work.” She shook my hand and left. Eyebrow rolled his eyes and nudged the couple with him.

   All my griping and worrying about Eyebrow being a big success and leaving me in the dust and he wasn’t even a union guy. Still, I had a lot to learn. My blue suit did end up with long permanent pink stains.